Prologue: Natasha's Recruitment
by PJCKMCACSKSA
Summary: Set in the same universe as the Last Demigod. The world council has called in Hawkeye for a mission. He has a perfect record. But this new mission would be hard. Every other agent and handler, all level 7 and up, had been killed first. Then, he finds out that he has to kill his old friend from his mercenary days, the Black Widow. And he won't, can't, kill her. But recruit he can.


0600 Hours, June 15th, 2005

D.C. SHIELD Base

Clint was sleeping, having just gotten back from a mission in Norway at 2300 hours last night. If he had really wanted to, he would be up by now. In his mercenary days, he would go to five different time zones in as many days without feeling the effects a normal person would. But, the man just didn't really feel like waking up if he didn't need to, he liked his sleep. If Coulson needs him for something, the older man would just come on into his room and wake Clint up.

Usually, he did so, showing no respect for Clint's need to sleep. He just really didn't get the point. With a 100% success record for his whole time at SHIELD, why did Clint need to fill out some paperwork on how he did it? The mission was over and done with, who really cared? Fury probably didn't even read the paperwork, though maybe Hill did it for him. But Coulson was a stickler for the rules, so paperwork it would be.

There was knocking on the door. It was most likely Coulson. Clint did not respond and just prepared for the eventual entry. At least it was 0600 today instead of 0500. Slowly, the door creaked open as Coulson slipped into the room, shutting the door behind him.

Rolling out of the nest Clint had made on the bed out of blankets, he was free-falling. Twisting, he silently landed on the floor, arms bent as he pressed down close. Ready to extend his arms and legs at a moment's notice and pounce. Being at SHIELD for four years had not broke old habits learned in the backstabbing world of carnies and mercenaries. There, there was only one who could trust. One who would watch his back.

Impatiently, a foot tapped on the ground five times. His and Coulson's signal, meaning that it was safe. To get off the floor and talk to him like a normal human being. Slowly, he pushed off the ground, giving a little spring at the end to shoot him into the air. Easily, he landed on his feet. Archery might have been his main act in the circus, but he did a little bit of everything. While he moved to follow the man out of the room, a hand was held up. Clint stopped as Coulson's eyes moved up and down his body.

His hand moved from its previous position until it was pointing at the closet. With a sigh, he entered, changing out the clothes from his mission that he had fallen asleep in for a basic SHIELD uniform consisting of combat boots, padded pants, a black shirt, and a bulletproof vest.

When he exited, Coulson just pointed back at the closet. His eyebrows shot up, confused. With a small sigh, Coulson explained. "Director Fury told me you are to see the council today. They want to talk to you."

He took a large step back in shock. "Wait, what? And what do you want me to change? This is a basic SHIELD uniform." None of this made any sense to Clint. Why would the council want to see a carnie turned mercenary turned SHIELD agent? Especially one who had only been here for four years and was only level four.

Both him and Coulson entered the closet, as he stood in the corner while Coulson sifted through his clothes. After a minute, he must have found something suitable as a set of clothes was thrown onto his messy bed. Combat boots again, but these were steel-toed. Armored black pants instead of just padded ones. A plain black T-shirt. A dark grey and black armored jacket. What looked like a black ski helmet with black goggles. His black mechanical quiver, full of special arrows and normal ones. His bow in staff form was also on the bed. There was also a bunch of knives and sheaths, Coulson's way of saying go crazy.

A smirk made his way onto his face. So it seemed they were going for the dangerous and impressive look. While it might be overkill, first impressions are important, or so he was told. Usually, he didn't need to make a second one. One look, and their dead. Only people you would see regularly are employers. Mob bosses. The council was a bit like SHIELD's boss, the one in charge of the mob And if that's true, he wants to make sure the world security council takes him seriously. It'll probably be a lot like when he was meeting with mob bosses as a mercenary, except for the fact they are government. Hopefully, as at least that is something he is slightly familiar with.

As Coulson began to move out of the room, he gestured at Clint to follow. So he followed the man all the way towards the room where Fury usually met with the council. But when he made a move to leave and leave Clint there all on his own, he reacted.

His arm moved at light speed as he grabbed hold of Coulson's arm. "Where are you going," he managed to growl out despite his panic.

The man seemed to tremble, unknowing about the fact that Clint considered him his only confident and trustworthy person in SHIELD and therefore wouldn't kill him. But he was right to be a little worried, as Clint had a larger body count than everyone else at SHIELD combined. Well, if you exclude Fury from that count.

"My orders are only to bring you here since the council wishes to talk to you." Taking a deep breath to gather himself back together, he whispered, "Director Fury told me that he would try to protect you." That's right, Coulson was probably Fury's left hand man, despite not being one of the tops of the organization. Though to Fury, Coulson would probably be right behind Hill. Something had to have happened with those two together.

"Don't need protecting," he muttered as he released his grip on his handler. The man fled the scene as fast as he could. Clint took a couple of deep breaths before opening the door and sauntering through the it, taking care that all council members could see some of his knives and his arrows while twirling around the bo staff that became his bow. That though was not just for intimidation, it was also to keep his hands busy.

As he looked around the room, he immediately noticed Fury as the only large black man with one eye. Subtly shifting his course in a way that no person would notice, he ended up right near Fury, a little bit farther away from the council members.

Fury gave a small nod in acknowledgment while giving a barely noticeable smile in approval of Clint's actions. A quick glance around the room told him that Fury would be his only ally. The eight council members all looked sketchy and were not to be trusted. Fury was the only of the nine other people in the room on his and SHIELD's side.

"Director Fury," a council member started, "would you care to explain to our last arrival about why we are here today?"

The man in question gave a military nod, his head quickly jerking down and up, before turning to Clint. "You're the only person at SHIELD who has maintained a 100% success rate for four years straight. So, the council wanted to give you a mission." The brown eye of the man looked over the five men and three women sitting in black chairs on the other side of the mahogany table. Both he and Clint are standing.

Another council member, this time female, responded, "That is correct. Councilman Yen, could you pass them the folder?" An Asian man slid a manilla folder full of paper across the table to Fury and Clint. Before they could start to look through it, the woman continued. "Agent Barton, codename Hawkeye, before you can look, you must accept this mission." He spared a glance towards Fury, who gave the smallest of nods. Closing his eyes and dreading the worst, he nodded in acceptance. "Good. Your mission is to kill the Black Widow."

The moment the words left her mouth, Fury strode all the way forward and slammed his hands on the table. "I will not let you send another one of my agents after that woman, Councilwoman Hawley," he thundered.

A manipulative smile spread across her face. "He accepted, Director," she replied, turning her manipulative smile into a sweet one. "There is nothing you can do about it."

Looking between the two older adults, he was confused. "I've killed many people before. More than the rest of SHIELD combined. What's the difference with this one. Is she bulletproof? Then you need poison or suffocation. I know how to kill."

Fury shook his head. "It's not that." He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. The man was trying to figure out how to phrase things. "The council has sent ten teams after her in the past. All composed of at least five level seven agents and three level eight handlers." His head tilted downwards. "Every single one of them died before they even saw her." The bald head shot back up and he looked at Clint right in the eyes. His one eye was unblinking. "Sending just you, a level four agent and possibly Coulson, who's a level six handler, alone, after only four years of working together, is suicide. You and Coulson are some of my best and I don't want to lose you."

Clint frowned. "You won't lose us. Pass me the folder, or just a photo." He slid over the folder, with a picture of the Black Widow on the top. She was wearing a black catsuit. There was a black belt with a red hourglass symbol on it. She had bright red hair tied up in a ponytail. Her eyes were bright green. And she was very familiar.

Staring at the photo a little longer, it hit him. She wasn't a random stranger. She wasn't just another mercenary or assassin. She wasn't someone he had met only once. She was the only one he could trust in this backstabbing world. His old partner, from that year when he was twenty, six years ago. Not just the Black Widow, the Red Room runaway set on destroying them. His partner, his friend. Natalia Romanova.

A smile spread across his face. "I've got this," he whispered, then repeated it louder. There was a shocked look on everyone's face. "But I need a few things. No contact. Nothing related to SHIELD or the government. There's a woman I know, who's a mercenary informant. She can get me what I need on the Widow. But a whiff of government and she'll be gone. Give me two months, and I can bring her body back."

Councilwoman Hawley pursed her lips. "Fine. Dismissed."

Clint sprinted from the room, then turned around. Pulling a knife out of a sheath, he threw it. The knife landed directly in the middle of the mahogany table, as he wanted. "That is a reminder of my promise. No contact, remember!" A large teeth filled grin was on his face as he ran back to his room. Time to go back to the good old days of death, money, and backstabbing.

Locking the door, he searched through the room for anything that had no affiliation with SHIELD. While he would go through a couple of changes before even contacting Natalia, it would be better safe than sorry. A pair of purple sneakers, black cargo pants, a purple long-sleeved shirt, and a black jacket. With a black hat with a purple pompom on top, he removed all SHIELD evidence with something he'd wear back in the old days.

Now that clothes were finished, the issue would be what to bring. After a little deliberation, he decided it would be best to start new. Taking all of the identities that he had from before SHIELD and placing them in his pockets, Clint exited the room.

Feeling a little naked with the absence of a weapon, he looked through his stack of identities, until one stood out. Hawk Fowler, one of his personal favorites, seeing as he had four vaults under that name, more than any other. One of those vaults was located in the District of Columbia, just five minutes away from SHIELD. He'd only have to go about seven minutes without weapons. That was good.

A few agents looked at him weirdly, noticing the absence of any sort of uniform or armor. Instead, he looked as if he was going to go undercover as a civilian for a few days instead of the more violent missions Clint has a tendency to get. But he ignored all of it until he noticed Coulson. The man noticed him as well, and jerked his head, gesturing at Clint to join him.

He looked at Coulson quizzically. "You are leaving, right," Coulson asked worriedly. "On a mission?" Clint nodded. "What about me? I'm your handler."

"This mission," he started, before cutting himself off with a shake of his head. "This one I have to do alone. Just don't ask, and don't make contact." With a sigh, Coulson left, giving one last desperate glance over his shoulder. Catching it, he shook his head in the negative. No, Clint was not going to change his mind on this. He does it alone or not at all.

* * *

0730 Hours, June 15th, 2005

D.C.

Reaching the doors, he slipped out, making his way towards the bank, messing with his blond hair to make it look like the messy blond hair that Hawk had while popping in hazel contacts. To be safe, he also slipped on a pair of sunglasses with a green tint to them.

With a long, confident stride, he entered the bank. There was no line so he went straight to the front, slapping his fake ID on the counter. "Hawk Fowler." He pushed his sunglasses up, letting them see his face. "Birthday is March 20th, 1981. I'm 24 years old." Placing his thumb on the fingerprint scanner, he waited for it to go green. When it did, he flashed a smile at the girl at the counter, letting his white teeth show. "Thanks, can I have the key?" Flustered, she didn't ask any more questions and slid the key over the counter. "I'll return it when I come out. Thanks, friend."

Moving away from the desk he headed towards the back to the bigger vaults before she snapped back to reality. Fingering the key, he came to the end and inserted it into the keyhole, twisting it with his left hand while pressing his right on the scanner. As the lock clicked open and door glowed green, it opened.

Smirk plastered onto his face, he slipped inside, quickly shutting it behind him. The plan was to live with only a backpack and a duffle bag, so he needed to pack wisely. While he wouldn't be able to change clothes yet, he'd have to pack some more. That would be the first order of business, as in the spy business, especially when dealing with Natalia, clothes would be the first thing to give you away. Outdated styles, slightly better material, nothing would miss her scrutinizing looks. And clothes were the easiest thing to see.

One pair of combat boots, one pair of snow boots, and one pair of sneakers found its way into the duffle bag. Next, one thing of padded pants, two of cargo pants, and three normal pants. Three T-shirts and three long sleeve shirts were slipped in. Two bulletproof vests, and two bulletproof jackets. Then one normal jacket and one ski jacket. One scarf, three pairs of gloves. A facemask. Two beanies, two helmets. A couple of other things. The duffle bag was a quarter packed and he had the outer layer done.

Next were supplies to live. A sleeping bag was packed, along with some matches. Anything else could be found. Shelters could be made, extra food could be hunted. After that, he added four gallons of water. Basic food was needed, and he packed thirty cans of random food items. The bag was half full.

The next quarter was for disguises. Dyes, wigs, contacts, glasses. All sorts of makeup to create and get rid of scars. Anything and everything was there. He'd be switching identities without help and without SHIELD to smooth things out. Overkill is necessary when one is out of practice.

Last quarter was for extra weapons. There was a deck of his trademarked metal cards. Some extra arrows of many types. An extra string for if his bowstring breaks. All different types of knives, a katana. A few other different types of weapons were thrown in there as well, including a small gun with some extra rounds of ammo. While Clint disliked using guns, they were some of the more effective weapons out there.

Since he was on the weapons game, instead of going to the backpack after zipping up the duffle bag, he went towards outfitting himself with weapons. His old collapsible purple and black bow was collapsed and placed in the pocket of his jacket. His money went in one of the cargo pants pockets, IDs in another, old phone from before in a third, along with a deck of metal cards in a fourth.

Slipping a double belt sheath onto his waist under his clothes, he tucked a gun in on the left side and his second katana on the right. Knife sheaths were added all over and filled with knives of all kinds. A swiss army knife was slipped into the other pocket in his jacket. All that was left was his arrows. But what could he do?

Sitting there for a minute, he just thought. Looking over at the bags again, he noticed a money bag that went across the chest. When he did, a lightbulb turned on over his head. Taking a quiver and a strip of leather, he got to work. After ten minutes, it was done. Over the head it went. On his right shoulder was the leather, which leads to the quiver hanging on his left side near the waist. Filling it with arrows, he stuck a cover on top so no one could see in. Now, he was covered with weapons again, though concealed this time.

All that was left was his backpack. Two large water bottles went in, along with some food. A computer and two burner phones for tech. Three notebooks were shoved in, along with five sharpened pencils and two pens. An assortment of needles and other things that could be used as weapons. Some more money. An extra swiss army knife. Going around the vault a few more times, he grabbed a couple of more things before zipping up the bag.

Backpack on his back, dufflebag held in the right hand and quiver hanging on his left side, he exited the bank, tossing the key to the girl in the front, flashing her another smile.

* * *

0900 Hours, June 15th, 2005

Clint's Old Maryland Base

Somehow, his base was left exactly as it was, no one had taken over. But he isn't going to complain about it, slipping back in and updating all of the defences. It wasn't ever found, he was just going to leave it at that.

To finish the mission, he'd have to get into contact with Natalia. That was pretty simple, provided she picked up.

Fishing out the phone, he looked at the list of contacts on the phone. He had all the contacts saved on every phone, even the ones those contacts didn't have access to. It was sorted though, which saved him time. Skipping past civilians, government and SHIELD officers, and mob bosses, he got to fellow mercenaries. While he only partnered truly with Natalia, there were a few that he worked with, or just had the numbers of. But Natalia was first on the list, like she was first in his life.

Finger hovering over the call button, he took a deep breath and made the decision. He pressed the button and held the phone up to his ear.

* * *

**Author's Note: I'm back! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter, I'll be back with another one in two to three weeks. That one will be in Natalia's point of view. Just so you know, this story is about Clint recruiting Natalia to SHIELD and Natalia changing her name to Natasha. I hope all of you will enjoy it as much as you have the Last Demigod. **


End file.
